Blame Games
by mrsProbie
Summary: Remus has had another tragic break-up. Sirius is clearly tired of breaking up the pieces, and Remus is tired of disappointing him. The air begins to clear as communication does.


Remus tossed back another shot of Firewhiskey. It didn't matter anymore if he stayed until last call on a Tuesday night - wasn't like he had a job to worry about waking up on time for. His boss at the apothecary had finally found him out and let him go only two days before, and he had already had to ask Sirius if he could sleep on his couch again until his next job. On the bright side, he reckoned if he had to get miserably plastered on a weekday and show up in the middle of the night at anyone's flat, Sirius would be the only one to take him in without too much judgment. He was an alright bloke.

He had thought Malcolm was an alright bloke, too. He'd thought Malcolm was more than alright, he'd thought he was _the one_. He was so open, so accepting - his favorite uncle was a werewolf, and he had known his own sexual orientation since he was a kid, never taking issue with it. Malcolm's home was a bastion of liberality during these uncertain, dangerous times, and he found himself drawn first to the warmth the other man exuded, then to the man himself.

Remus had met him at the Ministry. He'd helped him fill out his monthly Proof of Residency paperwork; Remus hadn't really needed the help, since he'd been doing this every month since Hogwarts, but he was glad to have such a sunny disposition next to him while he scribbled down the necessary answers - his address in Croydon, his continued singlehood, his written promise to alert the Ministry should it become evident that he was fathering a child. Malcolm had scanned the page, presumably looking for errors, and had given Remus a big, blinding smile as he stapled Remus's copy of his "lease" (a handwritten page from his landlady) to the single sheet.

Their - whatever they had - had developed quickly. Malcolm had asked him to tea that very afternoon, and Remus had said yes because, well, he enjoyed the attention. Remus was only nineteen, and Malcolm was twenty-three, tall and bright-eyed, blonde and boisterous. He made Remus feel older and smarter, more attractive, more adult. He was gaining the confidence that he'd never had in Hogwarts. They didn't _talk_ about what they were doing, transitioning smoothly from flirting in a tea shop to taking a walk around the better part of London, from hands gliding over pants in a movie theater to necking in Malcolm's living room.

The first full moon was two weeks into their - whatever they had - and it had felt like a moment of truth. Remus was relieved when nothing changed between them. He had tried to make plans to introduce Malcolm to his friends at a pub night, but the dates and times weren't aligning.

Two weeks after _that,_ things changed.

Malcolm wasn't flirting with him anymore. When Remus went in for his Proof of Residency paperwork in April, Malcolm didn't even spare him a glance. He was helping another man, and at first Remus assumed it was just professional courtesy preventing him from throwing a wink his way. Then Malcolm's signature, big-toothed smile came out, those horrible beautiful blue eyes shining at _another man_. Remus took the idiotic jealousy he was feeling and put it to the back of his mind, filling out the papers alone just as he had before. Malcolm was doing whatever it was they were doing with _him_ , after all.

But when he sent him an owl later that night asking when they were going to see _Alien_ , Malcolm told him he was going to be busy that weekend. And when Remus brought him lunch the next day, Malcolm grimaced and asked him if he wouldn't mind doing that - he didn't mind, he swore, but it was a lot in front of his coworkers.

A dozen similar incidents later, they were snogging in the privacy of Malcolm's living room yet again, hands roaming on the couch, and Remus couldn't hold back the question. He pushed Malcolm's chest up and away and took a moment to get back his breath. He was panting.

One more deep breath, and then: "What are we doing?"

Malcolm was smirking as he started to reply, ducking down again to whisper the words in Remus's left ear. "I'd hope you could tell-"

"You know what I mean." He held back a shiver from the sensation of Malcolm's hot breath on his skin. He needed to focus, to find out what he was supposed to be feeling.

Malcolm seemed to realize that Remus wasn't going to stop pushing for an answer, and he pushed himself off of Remus and into a sitting position on the couch. It would have been comical, his sweaty flushed face looking so pensive, if Remus wasn't so afraid of where this was going.

"We're not in a relationship," Malcolm blurted. There was no hint of a toothy smile, and his eyes had never looked so dull. "I don't do relationships," he said more slowly. "I can't, and it's unfair for you to expect anything else. You can't blame me for that, Remus. It's just the way I am."

Remus's heart dropped into his stomach. "You led me on." Malcolm was still, and Remus was furious. "You let me think this was going somewhere, you never _told me_ that you-"

"I think you should leave."

Remus gaped at the other man for a moment before standing. "I think you're right." He swallowed, and it was thick in his throat.

They were silent as Remus shoved his feet into his shoes and found his wand, gripping it like a lifeline.

Malcolm walked him to the door, and Remus stepped out into the familiar yellow hallway. Their eyes met, and Remus was too angry at the lack of emotion in Malcolm's to feel properly hurt.

"Fuck you," Remus spat. Malcolm didn't reply, but if he shut the door before Remus made it out of the hallway and into the stairwell, Remus didn't hear it.

Remus didn't even hesitate, Apparating directly to the alley closest to the Leaky Cauldron. He made the trudge down the block and was relieved to not see anyone overly familiar in the pub. He wanted to drink, and he wanted to do it alone. He'd ordered a Firewhiskey over ice, then another, then another but warm, and then maybe another. He wasn't sure how many he'd had, but he was pretty sure he needed them all.

By the time that Sirius showed up, Remus was properly sloshed. He didn't even notice his friend entering the pub, only becoming aware of his presence when he slid into the other side of the booth, hands clenched and staring Remus down.

"You're drunk," Sirius observed coolly.

"Yes." Remus's gaze flicked down into the small glass in front of him. There was a sip of the burning liquid left, and he fought back the urge to drink it down right then. "Malcolm and I…"

"I know. He sent you a letter to my place. I read it," Sirius said. Remus looked up, and Sirius's mouth opened, then closed again, as though he couldn't figure out whether he should say what he was thinking. They sat in silence for only a few seconds before Sirius continued. "He's such a fucking twat, mate. You really do have the worst taste."

Remus snorted. "At least I have an excuse. No one decent wants to date a werewolf - you dated Marlene even though you had a thousand other choices."

Sirius glared. "No need to bring out the big spells. I'm just saying, you need to start… doing better for yourself. Find someone who's going to treat you right, you know?" He reached over and took Remus's glass, then started fiddling with it as he spoke, staring down at it instead of looking at Remus. "It's really shit to keep watching you do this to yourself. Every couple of months it starts over with someone else, and it always ends the same."

"Yeah, well, that's life." Remus put his face in his hands and made a deep keening noise. "Thank you for putting up with my shit. I know it's not easy."

"You have no idea," Sirius muttered, and Remus felt his stomach turn. Sirius was right: he needed to do better, to be better. He needed to find a job, and he needed to learn to spot someone with a fear of commitment as soon as they came his way. He needed to be better. He needed to prove to Sirius that he could be better. He needed Sirius, of all people, to _know_ that he could be better.

He needed another Firewhiskey. Over ice.

He raised a hand to flag down Tom, the barkeep, but Sirius smacked it down. "Unless you're getting your check, I suggest you rethink what you're doing," he said pointedly.

"I'm already a disappointment," Remus said coldly, "and that's not going to change in one night. Just let me have this."

"A disappointment?" To give Sirius credit, he seemed genuinely confused. As if he didn't think that Remus was a worthless sub-human, undeserving of support, undeserving of any particular happiness. "Who told you that?"

"Nobody had to tell me, _Padfoot_. I can tell you're thinking it." Remus tried to roll his eyes, but he was so _bloody_ drunk he wasn't sure if the effect was there or not. "I'm not a complete idiot."

"What are you talking about?" He was making it very difficult to have this fight with him - if he would just admit he was thinking it, they could properly have at it, and then Remus would be able to find someone else's couch to stay on, and he wouldn't have to live with the day-to-day glances of a disappointed Sirius, and - "I don't think you're a disappointment, Moony."

He sounded so earnest, face scrunched in confusion, the glass he'd been fiddling with suddenly very still. But Remus knew, he'd _heard_ him. "You just admitted it. An apology isn't enough for you having to deal with me - you said I have no idea. So just leave!" he hissed. Sirius flinched back as though stung and tried to interject, but Remus cut him off. "I don't know when you decided I wasn't good enough, and I don't even care right now. But if all you're here to do is tell me I need to be better and that I'm too hard to deal with, just do us both a favor and skip to the part where you kick me off your couch. And then _leave_ ," he repeated. Then the air between them was thick and silent and still.

"Remus," Sirius began. "I don't - listen," he said, fumbling. "It's hard to deal with because I care about you. It hurts to watch you hurting, and I get frustrated when it seems like you're doing it to yourself. You put yourself in these situations, like these guys are going to make it all better, but - fuck. Okay," he breathed. "Look, Remus, I love you."

The words hung in the air, and Remus realized Sirius wanted a reply. "I love you too, Pads. You're my best friend."

"No, Remus, _I love you_." His eyes burned into Remus's, gray like a thunderstorm, and he became aware of his heartbeat, clammering away. He - what? Sirius - loved him?

"You - how long?" was all Remus could stammer out.

"A while," Sirius said, staring down again at his hands, which were now busily spinning the stolen glass, its contents sloshing at the bottom. Remus swallowed hard. "If you don't want to stay on my couch, I get it. Let me Apparate you to James and Lily's, though. You're in no shape to-"

"I'll stay with you," Remus said quickly. "I can't talk about this tonight. I'm… _really_ drunk right now, but I want to stay on your couch still. And we'll talk about this in the morning. Or the afternoon," he added with a glance at the grandfather clock leaning next to the bar. "I - I didn't know." He'd never felt so small, nor so close to having something so beautiful in reach. "You're - I can't talk about this right now. I'd mess all the words up."

Sirius looked up, hands still fidgeting, brows together in confusion. "All right. You're welcome to the couch. Let me Side-Along you. And I'll get your tab, you poor bastard."

He practically sprinted away from the little booth and over to Tom. Remus knew he hadn't done a very good job communicating exactly how okay he was with Sirius's feelings for him. He knew he was too far gone to effectively talk about it at the moment.

He knew, too, that he had a habit of getting handsy when drunk. He might have wanted to kiss Sirius for a long time, but he knew that if he did it right now, it wouldn't feel right in the morning. This needed to be a conversation they could have together, with both sides fully mentally present.

Remus wanted to resent Sirius for springing it on him in the middle of a pub, emotionally vulnerable and _quite_ drunk, but he couldn't find the energy. And after all, he'd been emotionally vulnerable in pubs for most of the last year and a half. Probably would be for another year and a half at least.

Or, he thought as Sirius came back to him, smiling uncertainly and offering a hand to pull him out of the booth… maybe not. Getting to Sirius's flat was a blur, and not just the Apparation.

His last thought before he fell asleep, snuggled into the cushions on Sirius's well-worn couch, was that maybe he'd found someone who had already proven he cared. Maybe he'd found someone who wasn't afraid of committing.


End file.
